


green carnations

by vienna_salvatori



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Aromantic Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming), M/M, aroaceingtheline2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29697003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienna_salvatori/pseuds/vienna_salvatori
Summary: AroAceing the Line Day 4: awareness + flowersWilde started a trend, a long time ago. He didn't expect it to ever come up, in this brave new world they're facing.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47
Collections: AroAceing the Line





	green carnations

The streets of Hiroshima would be best described as industrialised chaos, and Wilde does not have the time or patience to explore them. Instead, he scrawls a list of supplies for Zolf, and heads off to do all the fiddly organisation that would be _far_ easier with the support of, say, six all-powerful dragons at his back.

He’s on his own, though, so these things take a little more effort.

Find his contacts, find the hotel, find the airship- what’s left of it, at least- and its captain, attempt to corral as many of those disparate factors into one place as possible, try not to let the alchemist blow anything up, shepherd the kobolds (when did this become his job?), direct the paladin towards the temple district when she asks although it’s not like he knows this city any better than she does, ignore the fear of infection and betrayal that crawls up his spine with every new face in the crowd, and there are so, so _many_ of them-

-finally, he steps into his hotel room and sinks into the bed like a man condemned. If he closes his eyes, just for a moment- no. No, there is still dinner to come, tonight, and more paperwork besides, and if he shuts his eyes, he’s sure he’ll miss the lot. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair- still too short, even eighteen months on, and yet far more tangled than it has any right to be- and glances over towards his supplies.

The gear he packed from Okinoshima is stacked neatly at the end of the bed, accompanied by a small number of additional packages. A cursory glance shows that Zolf has done exactly as requested, which is something of a relief- his dwarven colleague can be a bit “rough and ready”, at times, but he seems to have taken Wilde’s preferences to heart and followed the instructions to the letter. It’s… nice. He may have adjusted to their brave new world over the past eighteen months, but there’s something reassuring about reinstating some old travelling routines. One less thing to think about.

In fact, Zolf appears to have gone even further- his pack must have been opened, as his toiletries have been left in a neat pile by the door to the bathroom, a fresh suit and his dinner jacket hung up over the back of the door. Like someone _knew_ he was going to stagger in here a half-hour before they were planning to leave again, and still try and find the time to freshen up regardless. Like someone knew he would try, and decided that rather than interfere, they’d simply… remove as many obstacles as they could. Make his life just that little bit easier.

Oscar’s… touched. It is, in fact, exactly the suit he would have chosen. Admittedly, he’s not exactly drowning in options right now, but it is still a surprisingly insightful choice.

Smiling faintly, and studiously ignoring the strain it puts on his scar, Wilde picks up a towel and heads for the bathroom- if Zolf is going to be bizarrely in-tune with him, he may as well make use of it. He can take the support, here, if he wants to. Zolf won’t breathe a word of it to anyone, and he _was_ planning on changing out of his travelling gear regardless.

His eyes flicker over the layout, one last time.

And he stops.

There is a single green carnation resting innocently on the bedside table.

* * *

They were never particularly easy to buy, is the thing. Oh, sure, illusion magic could do the job in a pinch, but it took all the _fun_ out of it. The challenge was finding the right place, and he’d spent many an afternoon ambling through streets, hunting. There was only ever one seller in London, an elderly man with a kind smile and knowing eyes who’d set himself up in Covent Garden a few years back and never seemed to leave. A few more in Paris, although the sellers shifted around a bit. He’d build himself some spare time for the hunt whenever he was in town, if he could spare it. They were rarer in other cities, but always _somewhere_ , if you spent the time to look.

And Oscar always did.

It wasn’t his trend, exactly. The things were already on sale _well_ before he arrived, he can’t be blamed for _all_ of it.

… okay, yes, he can. He invented it. It’s not like he exactly set out to create a trend, but- well. All frivolous fun, really. Slip a green carnation into the buttonhole of your suit once, and no one bats an eyelid. Wear it a second time, with the same flower adorning your companion’s lapel, and people raise a few eyebrows. Wear it a third time, for the curtain call of your own play, and all of a sudden, you’ve got something of a sensation on your hands.

From there? Well, it’s part of the reason watching Hamid deal with his miniature draconic entourage grants him so much amusement. He’s _been_ there, the subject of an entirely unwanted yet rather heartwarming show of support. Hamid will have to decide how he’s going to handle this, if he shuts it down or tries to take control, how firm a hand he takes in guiding the process. Wilde, for his part, had been delighted, quietly urged on the growing movement. He’d spun a story about symbolism to a couple young lads who he knew would spread the word- the colour green, artistic and just a little sinister, a smattering of French, gutter-slang and high art combined into one symbol. A point of pride for young men of a certain persuasion, should they choose to display it.

And display it they did.

Wilde doubts that most of the party will be aware of the importance, or his role in it. Sir Bertrand might’ve. Hamid… has the social status, to be sure, but Wilde doesn’t believe the young halfling ever moved in quite the right circles to pick up on it. Carter’s been away from Britain long enough, goodness knows what kind of social cues he’s missing now. The rest- Cel, Azu, Earhart, Barnes- they’d all be too far removed, geographically and socially.

He would’ve expected Zolf to sit in the same category as the rest, but the green carnation is here, staring up at him, an impossible flash of colour.

Gods, it must have been a _nightmare_ to track down. Do they even grow in Japan?

Zolf- Zolf found this, somehow. Zolf researched these things- there’s absolutely no way he came across it independently- and he thought- what? That Oscar would appreciate it? That he’d want to go find someone for the night, now that he’s here in the big city, and he might as well facilitate? That the tiny reminder of normality and home might help him breathe, rather than remind him of everything they’ve lost?

Part of him wants to crush it. The Oscar Wilde that started fashion trends is long gone, now, and the reminder _hurts_.

He forces himself to bathe before he does it.

When he comes out, the flower is still sitting there, fragile and innocent and beautiful, and Zolf is hovering just outside the door to his room.

‘Ready to come down?’

Wilde hates it, he thinks. The flower is a work of art but these days, he is not one. He is a wreck of a human being, so far past the point of warding off sorrow that he feels like he might as well be breathing it. The flower was a flight of fancy from a simpler time and it means nothing, now, except as a reminder of everything he lost. He’s a mess who can’t spare half an hour to stop and bathe and think and-

-and Zolf knew that and did everything he could to buy him that time anyway. He spent what must have been _hours_ hunting the streets of a strange, industrialised city, for a frivolous object with no practical use for their mission, just because he thought it might make Wilde feel better. Then he left it somewhere no one else would see, put the decision right into Oscar’s hands. He didn’t know how Wilde would react to this, not exactly, so he made sure to give him privacy, a chance to react unseen by the people who are relying on him- relying on both of them. There is no expectation, here. He could leave it in his room and Zolf would say nothing, and no one else will hear a word of it. He could wear it, and no one other than Zolf will understand what it means.

It could just be a flower. A reminder of times past, perhaps even a promise of times yet to come. If he wants it to be.

‘Almost.’

He picks up the carnation in hands which are far more callused than they should be, turns the stalk over in his fingers. It’s so delicate. Breakable. But it isn’t broken yet.

He breathes in. Then out. Then, before he can lose his nerve, he slips it into the top buttonhole on his suit and strides towards the door.

Zolf’s eyes land on the flower the moment Wilde opens the door, and he smiles at the sight of it resting against Oscar’s chest.

Zolf doesn’t have a carnation of his own, and Wilde is glad of it. For once, he doesn’t want to use his symbol as a means of finding someone to warm his bed for the night. Zolf- Zolf is more than this. Not a lover for a night. Not a storybook romance, either, like those Harrison Campbell novels he loves so much. He knows Wilde, though, in a way he didn’t think anyone ever would, and the certainty of it- the trust that Zolf is here, no matter what, calms him more thoroughly than he thought could ever be possible. He’s not alone. The world can change as much as it likes, but they will still be here. This stubborn dwarf is going to make sure the world stays beautiful, and Wilde stays in it.

Cleric of hope, indeed.

‘Shall we, Mr Smith?’

And they step out onto the landing, together.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me about real life Oscar Wilde being a ridiculous drama queen who starts homosexual fashion trends which are so widespread they spawn novels
> 
> (yes, the novel in question did directly lead to him being prosecuted for homosexuality. I'm going to ignore the depressing bits for now cos it's like 2am and I just want to celebrate a good writer having some fun with flowers)


End file.
